


Silent Ice

by tokyopt



Category: Figure Skating RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Non Graphic, Plot What Plot, Shmoop, yuzuvier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 18:27:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9670763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokyopt/pseuds/tokyopt
Summary: The rink was shadowed. The only illumination coming from the emergency lighting on the stands.The svelte shape all in black could only be discerned as it slid across the ice, in between shadow and light.There was no music, no sound, except the blade cutting across the ice and the occasional deep breath.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is pure fiction and no, if you think I THINK this is even remotely true, then you need a reality check much more than I do. ;) I know very little about figure skating and any error is solely my own.

The rink was shadowed. The only illumination coming from the emergency lighting on the stands.

The svelte shape all in black could only be discerned as it slid across the ice, in between shadow and light.

There was no music, no sound, except the blade cutting across the ice and the occasional deep breath.

The skater circled the rink once more, arms softly waving in the air at will, elegantly trying out the practised movements. His eyes were heavy lidded, years of experience giving him perfect awareness of every inch of rink. He focused on his breathing, right arm outstretched, fingers pointed and poised into the darkness and silence. The cold air bit into his naked arms, but every other inch of him was protected by the black thermals.

There was no need to open his eyes at the additional sound of a pair of blades sliding across the ice, their rhythm as familiar as his own.

The first point of contact was at his hip. The warmth of a hand could be felt through the cloth. He exhaled as the other’s body slotted perfectly into his, the final touch of fingers on his bare neck.

Beautifully, like an intricate, perfectly planned choreography he twisted one arm through the air and brought it back into the other's shoulder, letting his head rest back on the opposite shoulder. He let himself be guided around the ice, blindly, trustingly.

Where cold had been biting, now warm fingers trailed rivers of fire. His lips split into a smile, before he gasped as lips smoothed over the skin of his neck.

Ah.

The hand at his hip tightened for a moment, as if warning, before it slid across his belly, pulling him back firmly into the cradle of the other's pelvis. He opened up both arms to the side as they cornered one end of the rink and felt the amused huff of breath by his ear.

The other hand landed on his inner thigh and smoothed slightly over the thermal pants until the hold was secure. He couldn't quite suffuse his moan. He could feel the change in the center of balance, their hips moving back, the other's thighs tensing in preparation. Leaning backwards, arms over his head, fingers around the other's neck, he exhaled loudly and in a moment of tension both of his skates left the ice.

They held the figure for half a rink, before he relaxed his legs back down and his skates made contact with the ice once more. Hands safely back on his hips, bodies no longer sealed together, he fully opened his eyes as they gained speed again.

He twisted expertly, skating backwards, letting the other's body and speed, tackle him into movement. Their eyes met for the first time in the shadows, before mouths crashed against each other.

Abstractly he was aware they were running out of rink, just as the other curled his arm firmly around his waist, holding him securely, lifting most of his weight off the ice, before stopping them with his other arm, hand out for the board. Still they inelegantly half crashed against the plastic board, and broke their kiss to puff out two amused groans.

He wanted to jokingly complain about driving abilities, but there was a mouth crashing into his, and a hand grabbing onto the hair on the back of his head. His most secret weakness. He was done with languid playfulness. He tightened his arms around the other's neck, giving as good as he got. He could feel a hand land firmly on his behind and gasped for breath. The lips trailed warmth across his cheek and down his neck as he moaned.

Too much, it was too much.

Letting himself be supported by the hand on his upper thigh and the body pinning him against the boards, he opened up his legs, letting their arousal meet. He felt himself faint with pleasure and reached one hand out to the board, the other pulling hips closer to his own. He could feel the elastic band of the sweatpants and the loose cloth of the tee and then a sliver in between. He slid his gloved hand in the warmth of workout clothes and cursed. He blindly brought his hand to his face, bit into the glove and ripped his hand out, spitting his glove off onto the side.

Yes, glorious slick skin and for once he wasn't the one moaning mindlessly. He dug his nails on soft flesh and felt the other tense.

He managed a short amused breath before the other retaliated by biting his neck. He tightened the arm around the other's neck, feeling hips twitching against his own, before his arousal spiralled tight and then dissolved into a cloud burst of pleasure.

He felt there were a few seconds missing in his recollection, before the hardness of the board and the stickiness of clothes made themselves painfully known. He was being held up by strong arms, the other firmly keeping them still and upright on the ice.

He kissed the warm skin by his face and pulled away slightly. His legs felt like a newborn colt, and he locked his knees, sliding slowly across the ice, the other's arm curled around his hips, his hand on his, keeping him on track.

It was a thing of a moment before his natural equilibrium came back and he slid away from the other's guidance, quickly looping the rink and back again.

A hand reached out and pulled him out of the ice as he slowed down closer. A fist knotted on his shirt and lips mouthed against his cheek. 

Shower.

There was a single peal of laughter before silence finally settled for the night on the ice rink.

 

\--------------------------

Brian leaned against the boards and absent-mindedly watched the other skaters taking turns on the ice, while he waited for Javier and Yuzu.

"Mr. Orser?" Brian turned to the girl kitted out in the bulky organization parka. "Here, I think this belongs to Yuzuru." She handed him a very identifiable black glove. "The cleaning crew found it this morning by the boards. He must have dropped it yesterday."

"Oh, yeah, sure." Brian stuffed the glove in his pocket. "Thanks."

He turned back to the ice and yawned. It wasn’t like Yuzuru to be so careless with his stuff. He felt a soft touch on his cheek and turned to face Pooh-san.

“Brian.” Javier clapped his shoulder as Brian watched Yuzuru position Pooh-san on the boards.

“You guys are late.” He said, before pulling Yuzu’s glove out of his pocket. “You forgot this yesterday.” He handed the glove to Yuzuru who bowed as he took it.

“Thank you.”

“On the ice. Now.”

Yuzuru took off for the rink entrance, while Javier mock saluted Brian. Nobody took notice as Javi distractedly scratched at the deep half-moons recently carved on the end of his back.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in an insomnia night after reading way too much lovely yuzuvier, watching way too many of Yuzuru’s programs (is that even possible?), when the muse finally woke up and decided something had to be written with a shadowy rink and a mysterious skater all in black before sleep could happen. :)  
> Therefore this is dedicated to all the yuzuvier creators. Thank you to fieryrondo, MissMegara, astrantia, Fuchsia, and all the lovely people in the comments of fieryrondo’s The Swan. This is for you.
> 
>    
> PS-The title is rubbish, but I probably need sleep before I can actually think of something, since this was more stream-of-consciousness-typing more than any actual thought-through-writting.


End file.
